Punching Home
by Zavocado
Summary: It's been three months since Evan gained a brother and suddenly it's nothing like he pictured. September 2024. GYOW verse.


A/N: An almost St. Patrick's Day surprise! After this one I might be going back in time a bit with GYOW one shots, but I'm not sure yet. Anyway, time for the new baby and some drama and a bit of angst. Oh, and Aunt Lily of course. She's been missing for too long.

Enjoy!

**Punching Home**

_ Tap, tap, tap_

Evan gritted his teeth and flipped to the right lesson in his Pre-Algebra book. His eyes blinked in rapid succession, keeping time with the taps. Jaw clenched, Evan tried to ignore the noise and his overactive tics to focus on his homework. None of the squiggles made a lick of sense. How was he supposed to do twenty problems by Monday when every page was gibberish? Especially when–

_ Tap, tap, tap_

Evan twisted around in his desk chair and glared at Oliver's back. A loud hiccupping tic that had refused to quit for six days straight burst out of him. Unlike himself, Oliver was almost done with his homework, breezing through it like he had for the past week and a half. His teachers had all said he'd gotten faster since he'd started tutoring last year. Even his dads had been more hands on with helping, he was still stupid and slow. How else could Oliver be finished with everything when he'd barely started? Oliver's pencil tottered between his fingertips again as he read.

_ Tap, tap, tap_

"Would you– _HICCUP_– Ugh! Cut it out!"

Evan threw his pencil at the window and dug his hands into his curls as another loud hiccup bounced out of his throat. This was the worst week of his life. The worst beginning to any school year ever and having a brother was actually a real pain in the ass.

_Tap, tap–_

"Would you fucking stop already?"

Oliver's hand froze as he turned around. He looked shocked by Evan's words. It wasn't a word he said often – definitely not in earshot of his dads. Usually, it was weak and nervous, slipping through his teeth so fast his tongue almost couldn't keep up.

"Are you talking to me or your tics?"

"_You_," Evan snarled, his wrist cracking tic itching its way up his forearm to join the fray. "God, you're so annoying with that stupid pencil tapping. Just _stop_."

"Sorry, I didn't–"

"_HICCUP_!"

Evan slammed his textbook shut and kicked the wall under their large, curved window desk. It filled the entire bumped out section of the three large windows in their room and was Pop and Dad's first birthday present to him. Of everything the Hummels had given him over the past three years, the desk, with shelves built into the wall at each end, was his favorite. Now he had to share it with Oliver, of course, but it had always been too big for just him. Today, however, it felt crowded and overstuffed. Paperback books, notebooks, and piles of sketches littered Oliver's side. Clutter was everywhere, engulfing what had been a bare expanse of polished, oak wood three months ago. His days of spinning around and propping his feet up were over unless he wanted messy dark hair tickling between his toes.

Another loud hiccup and several insistent jerks of his right arm. Evan blew out a frustrated breath and tried to stop himself from crying or screaming. He wasn't getting any work done today. Not after these stupid tics had ruined his life.

His constant wrist jerking had meant long stints of time at his locker, trying again and again to get the combination in before one struck. He'd been late because of it, and now had detention for two different classes, one of which started Monday. Note taking had been impossible when he kept blinking three or four times at various intervals. Then Kelsey–beautiful and perfect Kelsey–had laughed in his face when his tics had evolved into a horrible stutter over anything with a 'M' on Wednesday. But this morning had been the end of his temper. Saturday mornings were usually one of the highlights of Evan's week. After ten minutes, Coach Banks had taken him out of the first soccer game of the season because he couldn't control them at _all_.

"Are you okay?" Oliver asked timidly. "You've been super mad all week and–"

"Just shut up and stop tapping your damn pencil before I shove it up your nose," Evan snapped. He glared down at his math book and imagined it bursting into flames. Then the remaining ashes could choke Mrs. Walters when he brought them in Monday morning and dumped them on her head. That'd make everything better. Then he'd never have to mess with this stupid math stuff again.

"Don't take it out on me," Oliver said suddenly. Evan glanced up and found Oliver turned around in his own chair, looking ruffled. "I'm pretty sure whatever's upset you isn't my fault, so either tell me what's up or go take it out on whoever did it."

"Maybe it _is_ you that's done it," Evan snarled. "Maybe it's the one thing you're too stupid to get."

Oliver flinched and his eyes flickered towards the window that overlooked the darkening cul-de-sac. "I'm– it's only book stuff I'm good at," he muttered. "I'm no good with people like you."

"You're damn right you aren't," Evan agreed irritably. "Must be why I don't like you."

A surge of guilt rustled through Evan as he spun his chair back around to stare at the shelves on his side of the desk. A pile of textbooks, a handful of soccer trophies, metals, and his old Mets cap and the new Yankees one he'd gotten at his first Yankees game last year.

"You don't–" Oliver's chair creaked as he turned away, too.

They were silent for several minutes. Evan pulled down the novel he had to continue reading for his English class as Oliver's chair squeaked again. There was no more page shuffling from Oliver, no tapping, and no scribbling of his pencil. A mingle of guilt and satisfaction twisted through Evan. It served Oliver right for getting in his business and making that stupid rhythmic tapping. Trying to control his tics had been impossible enough without adding a metronome to their symphony. Little brothers were a real pain in the ass sometimes.

"I should have known you were just like the rest," Oliver said suddenly. His chair swirled around as Evan looked over his shoulder. The other boy's face was pink and his eyes bright with tears. "This whole stupid family is too good to be true."

"Hey! My dads aren't stupid! _You're_ stupid!"

"I am not!"

"Yeah, you are," Evan argued. He squawked out a hiccup and gritted his teeth. He sounded like a rabid bird. "You're stupid if you don't like us."

"Well, _you _don't like me–"

"Why should I with that stupid tapping? You're a horrible brother. I wish you _weren't_ my brother!"

It was out there before he could figure out what he'd said, his sour mood and tic-exhaustion taking over. Oliver flinched and leaned away from him, tears flooding his eyes.

"You– I'm–fine!"

"Good," Evan sneered, shoving out of his chair and stomping towards his bed. "I don't need a brother who's going to be so stupid he doesn't like _my_ dads."

"You're just a bully," Oliver shouted after him. A pair of hands pushed at Evan's back and he stumbled forward, a snarl on his lips as he spun around. "I don't need a brother who wants to be an ass and sounds like an arcade machine with his _stupid tics_!"

With a holler, Evan flung himself at Oliver, all the fury that had built up over the week exploding out of him as he collided with the other boy. They hit the bean bags set up between their beds, arms and legs flailing about as they got at whatever part of the other they could reach. Another round of tics started up as they tumbled off the bean bag and rolled into the bookcase.

"_Ouch_!" Oliver hollered from under Evan as a pile of well-worn comic books fell down on top of them. "Get off me!"

"Take it back– _HICCUP_!"

"You take it back!"

The door banged open and two strong arms hooked around his chest and hoisted him up away from Oliver. He hiccupped again, half out of breath as he wheezed and spluttered in fury.

"Let me go!"

"What the hell is going on here?" Blaine demanded, slipping around Evan and kneeling down where Oliver was still laying.

Kurt set Evan down, but kept his arms around his torso. "Evan, explain yourself _now_," he commanded as Oliver sat up with Blaine's help. There was a small cut over his eye and a split in his lower lip. Good. Evan hiccupped out another tic and glowered at the other boy.

"He's _stupid,_" he spat, attempting to yank himself free from his dad's arms. "It's all _his_ fault. All of it!"

"It is not!" Oliver argued shrilly, tears in his eyes and on his cheeks. "You're the stupid one! I only asked–"

With a fierce tug, Evan pulled himself out of Kurt's arms and shoved past him. "Whatever. I hate you!"

He fled from the room before Kurt or Blaine could say another word. Their demands for him to come back trail after him down the stairs. Once he was in the living room, Evan flung himself onto the overstuffed sofa and burrowed down, arms crossed as he glared at everything in sight.

It _was_ Oliver's fault! He'd been nosy with his dumb questions. Then he'd made them late after lunch and gotten out of it for being a sixth grader. Stupid I-think-cornering-shrimpy-kids-is-funny Trevor just had to corner Oliver. If there was one boy at Northport Middle Evan loathed, it was him. But next time he wouldn't stay and defend Oliver. Let him deal with it himself if all he was going to do was make Evan's life miserable.

"Evan Michael Hummel," a voice snarled from the hallway connecting the stairs to the living room. "You better be down here so I can ground you."

Lips curled, Evan stared hard at the opposite wall. Let Dad ground him, what did he care? He'd still get out and see his friends at soccer games and at school. His life wouldn't stop if they grounded him. A moment later, the deep maroon wall was blocked by a purple belt, dark pants, and the waistline of a designer shirt. Suddenly, it was all wretched and loud, like the itching under his skin and in his throat had been all week.

"_HICCUP_!"

"Evan, I'm waiting," Kurt demanded, nudging the ottoman over and sitting down in front of him. "Hey," he said sharply, when Evan rolled his eyes and let his right arm jerk about again. "None of that sass. I want an explanation right now."

When Evan still didn't answer Kurt huffed and stood up. For one wonderful moment, Evan thought he'd be left alone, but Kurt only went to the kitchen and came back, damp paper towel in hand. Despite his snarling protests, Kurt took him by the chin and pressed it against his cheek.

"You're bleeding," Kurt informed him as Evan tried unsuccessful to yank free. "Stop, so I can clean this up, Evan." He sighed once more, with less force this time, and wiped gently at Evan's cheek. "I never thought the first fight between you two would be violent. Couldn't have given us a bit of warning to have the first aid kit on hand, could you?"

Evan grimaced and tucked his hands into his armpits as Kurt switched the damp paper towel out with a dry one. "Wasn't exactly a set plan on my schedule, was it?" he countered. "_Three o'clock, eat lunch. Four o'clock, cave Ollie's face in_–"

"Absolutely not," Kurt ordered, rubbing harder than was necessary. "I don't want any of that between you two, Evan, and I didn't think you did either."

"That was before I realized he was a big stupid head."

"Your brother is not any of those things," Kurt said. "Are you going to explain what happened or not?"

Evan kicked at the ottoman as Kurt finished with his cut and stayed silent.

"All right, if you won't talk, then you can sit here until you want to," Kurt decided. "No eating or dinner either until you tell me what happened."

"But that's so unfair!" Evan protested in horror. "You can't–"

"I can, so either explain or skip a meal tonight," Kurt said flatly. He stood up and dumped the paper towels in the trash can. "I'll be upstairs seeing how Papa and Ollie are."

Evan glowered at his retreating back and stuffed himself down into the couch until he was buried between the cushions. If any of the house's other inhabitants came down he'd be nothing more than a pair of hips and legs draped from couch to ottoman.

"Sounds like that was quite a fight," a voice said. The seal of the refrigerator door popped open and Evan shifted, but ignored her. Aunt Lily had been staying with them since school had started. Her fiancé, Uncle Adrian, was out of town for work and since she was eight months pregnant with his baby sister, Kurt and Blaine didn't like the idea of her being on her own.

A chilled plate was dropped onto Evan's lap suddenly and his foot was nudged. "Get up, Tick-Tock, and help me sit."

Defiance still charging through Evan, he crossed his arms and moved his legs away from her insistent pokes. A loud hiccup, now muffled by the cushions scorched up his throat as she yanked at his socks.

"Ugh, would you _stop_?" He shoved himself up and into sight, glaring darkly at the impressive swell of her belly. His baby sister was hidden in there, kicking and punching every chance she got. Hopefully she'd be better at this sibling thing than Oliver.

"Help me sit," Aunt Lily repeated. After a moment, he offered his hand as an anchor and guided the other around her back as she collapsed beside him. There wasn't a lot of bending to be done for her at this point. "Thanks, Tick-Tock," she groaned, scooping the plate of watermelon slices off his lap and setting it on her belly. "Little Anna loves her summer fruits."

"Don't call me that," Evan grumbled, crossing his arms again and watching her devour the huge slices of watermelon. "I'm not a fricking clock," he said petulantly. After a second, he added grumpily, "I'm _not_ an arcade machine either."

"Never said you were," she said simply, biting off a huge, dripping chunk. "God, your Dad always knows how to pick the best watermelons."

Evan turned his glare towards the wall as she slobbered through her snack. If he grinded his teeth against each other hard enough, maybe his tics would stop. Aunt Lily sighed finally and set the plate down on his lap again, rubbing her stomach and sinking back into the cushions with him.

"What'd you say to get Oliver swinging?" Her thumb brushed over the sore cut on his cheek.

Evan sat up again, defensive and annoyed. "I didn't say anything."

"Evan, you're my nephew and I love you, but you've been a right little bitch all week. Spill your teenage woes to your favorite girls." She patted her belly and gazed at him imploringly. "I'm here to listen, not take sides."

"I– he– I wish I could throw these damn tics in a volcano," Evan finally blurted. This time he didn't bother to fight the itching in his arm as he let it jerk three times.

"I hope you don't," Aunt Lily said kindly. "You'd have to throw yourself with them."

Evan bristled at the idea and glanced over at her. "He kept tapping his stupid pencil," he admitted. "And it was just making it all worse."

"And you've already had a rough week," she said. At his puzzled look, she added, "I answered when your vice principal called about your detentions for tardiness. Haven't told your dads yet."

"God, _please_ don't," he begged, his anger dissolving into worry. His voice squeaked at an alarming pitch, momentarily losing the deeper tone it had gained over the summer. "My tics were going off and I couldn't get my locker open and I'm already in enough trouble now and–"

"Lips are sealed," she said with a small shrug, "_if, _and _only_ if,you tell them at some point. Today probably isn't a good idea, but I know how bad your tics have been this week."

"Right," Evan agreed sullenly. He stared at the plate on his lap, watching the leftover watermelon juice form a pale pink puddle on one side. "I– I said some stupid things to him," he admitted. With a cringe he recalled the worst, the one that had really set Oliver off – the one that had made his younger brother cry.

"I'm sure you both did," Aunt Lily amended, carefully starting to shove herself to her feet. "You two have been snappy since school started. Was only a matter of time." With a groan, she clambered to her feet. "Time for my fourteenth pee break," she declared, musing up his hair. "Your sister is overly fond of pretending my bladder is her throne."

"She's going to be endless trouble," Evan said.

"Hey." She watched him until he looked up. "Siblings fight and say horrible things. Blaine and me have gone at it for years, even though we didn't grow up together. The important thing to know is that you still love each other, but you're also two very different, headstrong boys. You're going to fight, and you're going to hurt each other because you love each other. Even your dads hurt each other sometimes. It just happens."

Guilt churned in Evan's stomach as he sat there and watched her waddle off. She'd probably change her mind if she knew what he'd said. Overhead he heard a door shut and another open with a squeak. One of his dads was in the master bedroom. He had to go up there and apologize, to tell Dad and Papa the stupid, horrible thing he'd said to Oliver and to make sure Oliver didn't hate him forever.

* * *

"I'll go after him."

Blaine nodded as Kurt stood up and hurried after Evan's stomping footsteps. "Come on, squirt," he said as Oliver wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Let's get you cleaned up and then I want to hear what happened, okay?"

Oliver said nothing as Blaine helped him to his feet and over to his bed. After a few more reassuring pats, Blaine shuffled off to the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth to clean up Oliver's little cuts. A split lip and a small cut over his eye. It certainly wasn't anything like Blaine had thought the boys first real fight would amount to, but they were like Kurt in that way. Always full of surprises, zigging instead of zagging just to keep him on his toes.

When he returned to the boys' room, he was surprised to see Oliver curled up with his pillow and the tattered remains of an old blanket of dubious origin. Blaine hadn't yet asked what the blanket's significance was to Oliver, but he and Kurt had their suspicions.

"Ollie?"

The boy buried his face into his pillow and tried to hide his sniffling tears.

"Hey," Blaine said gently, sitting down beside him. "Sit up and I'll help you clean those cuts."

Another sniffle, but Oliver relented and slowly sat up. He kept his arms around himself and his chin drooping down to his chest. Blaine was quiet as he cleaned Oliver's little cuts. They weren't large or deep, more nicks than anything else.

With a final gentle dab, Blaine ruffled Oliver's hair and gave him an encouraging smile. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

Oliver shook his head as more tears filled his eyes.

"Hey," Blaine soothed, tucking Oliver against his side. "It's all right, kiddo. We're not mad at you two. Fights happen. We just want to know what happened and how we can help."

"I– we– he–"

Oliver pulled away from his side and tugged his blanket and pillow back to his chest. Blaine swallowed as he listened to him start crying harder, at a loss for what to do. With Evan it was easy. Sit quietly, wait for answers or, more recently, leave him be until his anger abated, then dig for answers. Kurt was simple for him, too. They'd known each other since they were teenagers, understood little parts of each other that others didn't even notice. Blaine knew how to wait Kurt out, when to swoop in with a warm cup of coffee and a slice of chocolate cheesecake and strawberries. But Oliver was still a land of uncertainties for them. He'd opened up since June, but nothing this extreme had happened yet. This was the first time he'd seen him so upset he'd been brought to tears and physical blows.

"Come on," Blaine said after a moment. "Let's go take a walk and talk–"

"I- I wanna go back to the Center," Oliver choked out. For a moment, he lifted his face from his blanket and pillow mound and the look was almost as much of a blow for Blaine as the words.

"You wanna leave?"

Something hard cracked inside of Blaine as he uttered the words.

Oliver's face screwed up and more tears filled his eyes as he wiped furiously at them. "I don't– I want– please take me back."

Blaine said nothing as the boy dissolved into fresh tears, face sinking back into the pillow. For a long time, he sat there, hand mindlessly rubbing Oliver's back as he tried to get his mind to work through the sludge he suddenly found himself in.

There was no future here with Oliver and the realization was hard to come to terms with.

He couldn't leave, couldn't drop that absence–that loss–into the little family they'd been slowly figuring themselves into since June. His son wanted to say goodbye to them for good, of his own free will; not at the hands of another like so many others in his life had.

With a soft word, Blaine carefully scooped him up, hugged him tight to his chest, and tried to forget the rest. His mother, his father, Lily, the day he'd thought Kurt was gone from his friendship and heart forever. "It's okay," he murmured as he tried to think of how he could ever explain what Oliver had just said to Kurt. "We love you so much, Oliver."

They laid down on Oliver's little twin bed until Oliver cried himself to sleep. Kurt returned and rubbed Blaine's shoulder. "You have better luck than me?"

Blaine stared down at his fingers running through Oliver's hair as he slept. He couldn't meet Kurt's eyes, couldn't tell him what Oliver wanted to do. If Oliver really meant it, if he truly insisted on leaving, Kurt would feel just how he'd felt so many times before.

"Blaine?"

"He didn't say anything," Blaine said quietly as Kurt pulled over one of the desk chairs and sat by the bed. "I've never seen him so upset."

"I'm sure Evan'll cave first," Kurt said. "I took away dinner until he explains what happened."

Blaine nodded and kissed Oliver's forehead as he sat up. "Kurt, he," Blaine swallowed and stared down at their boy. "Oliver said he wanted to go back. To the Center."

Kurt paused as his fingers stroked over Oliver's tear-stained cheek. "He– I'm sure he's just upset, Blaine. They've never fought like that before. Ollie's never gotten this upset with us. He's scared, Blaine, and I'm sure he still wants to stay. Hey," he reached behind Oliver and turned Blaine's face to him. "He's not going to leave us over this. That's not going to happen like it used to."

Blaine slid off the foot of the bed and stood up. "I'll go try Evan if you want to sit here, okay?"

Kurt agreed, but pulled him into a hug first. "He loves it here, Blaine. And he loves us." Kurt kissed the side of his neck and gave him another squeeze. "I'll keep Ollie up here when he wakes up."

Blaine kissed him on the cheek and gave Oliver one last look. Kurt was right, surely. But if he wasn't, he wanted one last peaceful look at the boy he'd so easily called son.

There was a sudden, soft yell from downstairs. They both startled and turned to the door.

"Oh, _oh_! Blaine? Kurt?" Lily hollered upstairs. "You might want to get the car. Oh, she's ready to kick her way out!"

"I'll call the doctor," Kurt said, already tugging his phone out of his pocket.

Blaine hurried downstairs to help his sister to the car."Evan," he called, "grab your brother and Aunt Lily's bag for the hospital."

Evan appeared in the doorway to the living room and frowned. "Can't Dad get him? Isn't he upstairs?"

"Go get Oliver or you're grounded until the New Year," Blaine said as he helped Lily towards the garage."

"But–"

"Go!"

* * *

"This is taking forever," Evan groaned. He dropped down into another seat in the waiting room and stared at his phone. "Everyone's asleep now. Why can't babies come at normal hours?"

Oliver curled up tighter in his chair and stared at the clock. The blankets and pillows Blaine and Kurt had brought were still stacked up neatly beside him. It was almost two in the morning. Neither of them had tried to sleep despite Kurt and Blaine's continuous visits.

"Babies kind of show up whenever," Oliver said. "They showed up on the doorstep at the Center and the church down the street a lot. That's how I got there."

"Wish I'd been left on the doorstep," Evan grumbled. "Better than living with her."

"Don't say that," Oliver said quietly. "My– I don't even know her name or anything, but the blanket she left with me. At least you knew yours and if leaving her was a good thing."

"Yeah, staying with a woman who slapped me around was just thrilling," Evan changed chairs again. "God, you're so– whatever."

Oliver turned his eyes back to the book he'd brought along and tried to keep reading. But with Evan hopping from seat to seat and starting to whistle-tic all around the room, he couldn't. Blaine hadn't said much to him since they'd left for the hospital or mentioned his request to leave. If he'd listened and called them, if they didn't want him after this…

"Ugh, I hate these damn tics!"

Evan flung himself into the armchair beside him and pounded his feet against the tiles. Oliver wasn't sure if that was a new tic or a mini-tantrum. After a moment, Evan hiccupped four times, cracked his wrists, and sunk down into his chair.

"Isn't there anything you can take to help?" Oliver asked. He'd only known Evan for three months, but all summer Evan's tics had been calm compared to now. Once school had started two weeks ago, he'd been noisier than a pinball machine.

"No," Evan said. "I mean, I think there's a few options, but they're long shots and they'd all mix bad with my ADHD meds. I wish they'd just– _hiccup_!"

Evan's head thunked back against the wall.

"I don't think that's going to help," Oliver said. He set his book down on the floor and turned over to stare at Evan. "I'm sorry I was making them worse earlier."

"It's not your fault," Evan grumbled. "Nothing's stopped them lately. I'm just angry, like, all the time."

"Yeah, my face noticed," Oliver reminded him.

Evan grimaced and looked over at him. "I didn't mean it. Any of it. Well, you are kind of stupid sometimes. But I'm stupid the rest of the time, so we make a good team."

"And good brothers?" Oliver asked.

"Until one of us craps out of existence," Evan said. He leaned towards him and used Oliver's head as a pillow.

Oliver shoved him off, but sat up so Evan could tug him to his side. "I think we'll still be brothers after that," Oliver said. "You'll be my brother long after you're gone."

"What makes you think I'm dying first?"

"Well, you're older, so you better go first."

Evan huffed and shoved his head. "Come on. Let's try to sleep or something."

"Or you could tell me how to be a big brother," Oliver said as they moved to the couches and their pillows. "I'm gonna be hers, aren't I?"

"I think we might have to ask Papa how to be big brothers," Evan said. "I haven't been very good at it so far."

"You were good enough to get in a fight with me," Oliver reminded him. "I didn't think I'd ever have a brother to fight with."

"I guess I did teach you about video games and soccer," Evan said thoughtfully. "And Tyler plays soccer with me otherwise you wouldn't be friends with him now."

"And the stars. Those were my favorite." Oliver closed his eyes and yawned. "Do you think she'll be here before breakfast?"

"If she's not I don't think we'll get breakfast." Evan yawned, too, and after a few minutes he started snoring.

* * *

"Boys? Boys, wake up."

Evan blinked slowly as his dad prodded him. "Mmm? Breakfast?"

Kurt laughed as the two boys sat up and rubbed their eyes. "No, no. In a bit. Your baby sister's here."

Evan squeaked, then hiccupped and rolled right off the couch. "She– really? When? How?"

"Evan Michael, we've already had that talk with you," Kurt flattened Oliver's bedhead and smiled at him. "She was born about an hour ago. They had to weigh her and clean her up, but she's perfect and waiting to meet her big brothers."

Oliver only stared at him in awe, but Evan climbed to his feet and stared at Kurt. "Dad, you're, like, crying. Is she hurt or something?"

"Oh, no. She's just– I'm so happy she's finally here."

"I bet Aunt Lily is, too. I don't ever want someone sitting on my bladder for nine months."

"Come on," Kurt said. He took each of them by the hand and lead them down the hall. Evan didn't even bother yanking his free for once. His baby sister was finally here. They entered a room on the other side of the floor where Aunt Lily was sleeping in a hospital bed and Blaine was swaying beside her with a little bundle of white blankets in his arms.

"Look who's here, sweet pea," Blaine said when they entered. "Your big brothers are here to meet you!"

Evan pulled his hand from his dad's and took Oliver's instead. "You wanna go first?"

Oliver trembled as he and Evan glanced into the blankets. A tiny newborn was snuggled down deep, her eyes closed but with Kurt's nose and pale skin.

"Oh, wow. She looks like Dad."

"What's her name?" Oliver asked as Kurt pushed a chair over and had him sit down. "I– what if I drop her?"

But Blaine gently set her in his arms and showed him how to support her head. "Look, you're a natural. Oliver, this is your baby sister, Anna Rose Hummel."

"H- hi," Oliver stammered as Evan looked at her fingers and nose.

"Hi Anna, I'm your super big brother," Evan said. "Hi, wow, she's so little. I thought she'd be bigger with how big Aunt Lily's belly was."

"Babies are supposed to be small," Blaine said. "You ready, Evan?"

Evan beamed as little Anna was passed to him and Kurt leaned down and hugged Oliver tight. "You two worked everything out?"

"Yeah, I– please don't call the Center. I wanna stay. I can, can't I?"

"Of course you can," Kurt said as Blaine scooped him up out of his chair and cradled him against his chest.

"We wouldn't trade you for anything in the world," Blaine whispered against his hair.

"I might trade you for a puppy for Christmas," Evan joked as Kurt took the baby from him.

"Oh, no, there's going to be enough messes with this sweet pea," Kurt cooed as one of Anna's little fists caught his finger. "Maybe next year when she's a little older."

As Evan groaned and hiccup-ticked, Oliver caught the smile Kurt and Blaine exchanged over his head. He'd never seen anyone look at anyone quite like that. It was like that with Kurt and Blaine, like a bright and vibrant galaxy had swirled up around them, and somehow, miraculously, Oliver had been swept inside.


End file.
